I Could Get Used to This
by sadie-leona
Summary: Sardis is a warrior from her own time and finds herself in the middle of a battle in the 5th century literally! Through her stay she finds solace in the mysterious and brooding Tristan and Gawain romance w. Tristan Sardis PoV.
1. Snow, Cramps, and Saxons

_I Could Get Used to This_

A _King Arthur_ fan-fiction by sadie-leona

_All original characters belong to their respective creators. While this is one of those time-travel fan fictions, it is really different, so please give it a chance!_

I hate the snow, really, I do. It always finds those holes in your clothes you've always been meaning to mend but haven't had the time and chilled you to the bone, no matter how many layers you wore. We had just had one of the biggest snowstorms of the century, and I was an unfortunate soul that had to venture outside.

"The Army doesn't care," I explained to my mother, "they need _someone_ to shovel their sidewalks, don't they?" She gave me a dark look and walked out of the room. "I'm going!" I yelled after her. She yelled something about not getting stuck, but my brother and his friends' screams made her statement garbled.

The snowfall had turned the trees lining our driveway into a tunnel, the winds had forced them to bend inward, the snow coating them like spray-paint until they were solid through and through. It was pretty cool, although whenever you went inside, it was like you could hear your blood pumping through your ears – that was creepy. I had described this feeling to my mother, but she hadn't felt it and just shrugged the phenomenon off, blaming it on my basic training. She's blaming everything on my choice to join the army, nowadays, even though it was nearly four years ago.

Bryte, my brother, and his friends imitated the sounds of a machine gun and one yelled "INTRUDER ALERT," initiating the beginning of a snowball attack. I laughed at the poor attempts by the group of seven-year-old boys who had terrible aim. I watched as one fell just in front of my feet, the other past my shoulder, and countless others that were close, but never hit their target. I bent down and packed snow together, tossing it at their make-shift fort, knocking down a wall and exposing the little troupe.

I turned to start my trudge to the end of the driveway – since the roads were closed by six-foot-tall drifts and today was a mandatory day for all workers on the army base, no matter how the weather, trucks were sent out to collect those who chose not to live on the base – one sanity wish of my mothers – and there were only a few, most had spouses and children who couldn't handle living on the base. I entered the tunnel, the insults from Bryte and his friends over my successful part-deconstruction of their fort dying away – the sound waves stopping at the colossal snow walls. I shivered, pulling the collar of my Columbia jacket around my neck and tugging the OD hat around my ears. I hadn't layered clothing because as soon as I got to the base, I'd have to replace it with my uniform, anyway.

My glove-less fingertips grazed along the iced walls, becoming red-raw. The eerie feeling crept over me again, first in my stomach, like cramps, and then the tingly feeling in my fingertips and toes and the ringing in my ears. I started to walk faster; I could hear the roaring of an armored vehicle as it plowed down the road. I was halfway through when I stopped, the feelings that had just been generated rapidly accelerating, enough that I was doubled over. I didn't have enough arms to sooth the places that hurt – my head, my stomach, my back, my legs, my feet – I've only felt this once before and it was my first week of basic training, a hell I would never want to endure again. "Br-Bryte," I gasped, although I could barely hear it myself. What was going on? Had my appendix ruptured – no, I had that removed when I was ten. It felt like everything inside of me had burst. The wind had picked up – it thrashed my long locks violently against my face to the point where they felt like whips. I opened my mouth to attempt to gain my brother's attention, but in one, lovely moment, the pain had disappeared and I felt like I was on top of a mountain, my spirit light a free, my hardships and worries gone.

I opened my eyes, amazed at the occurrence – I was on a mountain . . . or something like it and my hardships and worries _weren't_ gone. I wasn't in the tunnel, I couldn't hear any vehicles nor any yells from young, adventurous boys. I did hear, however, drums. Drums? Yes, drums. Everything was white, the sky just threatening to turn blue, light and crispy snowflakes fell from the sky. It certainly felt like I was home, but it didn't look it. What had happened? Was I dreaming? Had I blacked out and my real body was lying on the tunnel floor? For lack of anything better to do, I pinched myself. No, this felt _very_ real. I took a few steps forward, my tennis shoes crunching the fresh snow beneath.

Was I alone? Where were the drums coming from? I followed the sound, trekking a short distance around a large jutting rock. I was met with the view of eight beings standing in a line facing a mass of people slowly coming towards them – the source of the drums. What in the hell? I walked forward slowly, watching the scene unfold before me, a feeling of déjà vu creep over me; although I know I've _never_ been in this situation before. The mass stopped, and a moment later something hit the ice, but I was too far away to see what it was. Someone said something from the row, yet again I was too far away – I crept closer. Two men stepped forward, bows in hand, and shot at the mass, instantly killing – or at least brining down – multiple people. A second later screams erupted and the air was showered with arrows, a few sliding across the ice in front of me. I swore and stepped backwards. The déjà vu grew more, like the feeling in the tunnel had. And then it hit me – I had seen this before, but it sure as hell wasn't in real life – on the television.

I couldn't remember the name or what exactly was about – it was on the television once and I had it on while I was cleaning my room, and this was one of the only scenes I remember. The mass were Saxons? I think that was it. And the eight lined up were fighting against them, I think on the good side, if I was correct. And I knew who was going to die next.

"WAIT!" I shrieked, sprinting to the eight and directly to the man who was about to die, although I don't remember his name. He was the tallest of them, bald, and menacing looking. "Don't go!" I yelled to him, he was bending to pick up his ax. "You'll die!"

"The ice isn't going to break!" he yelled to the others, looking at me like I was a madwoman, the rest had stopped fighting and watched.

"If you wouldn't mind telling your lover to leave, Dagonet?" growled a man next to him who had dark shaggy hair that fell around his face, his eyes steady on the targets before him as he shot off three arrows at a time, not even glancing at yours truly.

"_She's_ not my lover," Dagonet retorted, looking at me suspiciously.

"You'll die," I said seriously.

"I don't know who you are."

"Please," I pleaded quickly, playing the movie moments in my mind, "you were about to go out and hack a hole in the ice, weren't you?"

"And?" he asked as if it were an every day ritual.

"You're not going to survive!" I exclaimed like it was common knowledge. "The people around you are not going to get all of the men with crossbows over there," I waved my hands around exuberantly, "you're going to get hit in the chest with one, and then you," I pointed to another man with olive skin and a red cape, "are going to go fish him out of the hole he chipped, and then _you_," I pointed to another man who was beefy and looked like he was about to bite my head off, "are going to go out and save _them_."

They all stared at me as if I was a raving lunatic, except for the man who had thought I was Dagonet's lover, who continued to shoot off arrows as if he were a machine. He looked at the others, "someone who strayed away from the caravans?"

"Please believe me," I whispered, looking into his eyes, but his brow furrowed and he gripped his ask. With a battle yell, he ran to death.

I hung my head, unable to watch the man's demise. I had seen many, being a field nurse among other things in the few deployments to Iraq I had partaken on. I knew the feeling well, when a black shroud seemed to cover you, but only for an instant and then you were vaulted into reality where your abilities and not your feelings mattered. Like someone who has just witnessed a catastrophe, I silently fell to my knees and then on my bottom, my mind unable to comprehend what was happening. I didn't even _know_ what was going on or when I'd get back to where I came from.

"Who are you?" a man asked gingerly, not talking to me as if I were a flea on their backs. I looked up to see the red-caped man.

"Sardis Bennett."

"You're from Sardis?" his face brightened.

"No," I sighed, "Sardis is my name." I was rarely bugged about my name, most from Roman history teachers or when classes dabbled in the Roman times – was the man before me a Roman-history buff, perhaps? …Or something else?

"Have you ever been to Sardis?" he asked, making small talk. My stomach dropped, he was the something else. They were the something else. I was in the something else.


	2. Lies, Death, and Uncertainty

_I Could Get Used to This_

A _King Arthur_ fan-fiction by sadie-leona

_All original characters belong to their respective creators. While this is one of those time-travel fan fictions, it is really different, so please give it a chance!_

_-_

I stumbled over _no_ and sucked in air, as if it kept my mind from exploding.

"Where are you from, then?" he asked sweetly, as if I were a frightened fawn.

"Michigan," I whispered hoarsely, knowing it wouldn't do any good.

"I've never heard of it – is it far?"

"Very."

"Where are you headed?"

To that, I shrugged, for I truly didn't know. "I don't know how I even came to be here," I admitted truthfully, my voice becoming strained as I fought back panic.

"So you're alone with no where to go in weather that not even the gods enjoy and you don't know your way back from whence you came?" He pretty much summed it up. I nodded, holding that lump in my throat back, willing myself not to scream or cry or do anything irrational – I didn't want to get an arrow through me, after all. "If you wish, you may follow us back to our city where you can find food and shelter."

I nodded and uttered thanks. "I'm sorry about your friend."

The man's eyes turned downwards and his gentle features turned hard. He didn't say anything at first, instead looking me hard and long in the eyes. "My name is Arthur, and these are my knights," he pointed to the men around him. Bors was the beefy man I had pointed to earlier. He didn't say any greeting, instead stared from me to Dagonet's body. Gawain had long orange-ish, blonde-ish hair that was slightly wavy and fell about him like a lion's mane. He said hello to me, and nodded. Galahad was the youngest, with brown-black curly hair and very nice muscle-y thighs that weren't covered by his armored skirt. He actually said my name in a "hello Sardis." Tristan was the man that had accused me of being Dagonet's lover. Enough said. He didn't look at me, but was gazing off in the sunset. Lancelot was tall with tar-black hair was exquisite against his pale skin. He just barely tipped his head when Arthur had said his name. The last was a woman – Guinevere. She had long brown hair and a beautiful face. She smiled and walked forward towards Arthur – she wasn't just a knight, by the way she looked at him, and was definitely not a knight by the lack of protective wear.

"The horses are just a little ways away," Arthur said to the group, which I now had merged with, and pointed off towards the way that I had entered. They started to walk away and Arthur nodded to me to let me know it was okay to follow.

I stayed a yard behind the rest, walking slowly and never staring at either of them for too long. Once or twice they glanced back at me, Arthur more than the rest to make sure that I was still following. With nothing else to stare at, and my mind completely blank as to what I was going to do, I studied their clothing. They each had a different taste, and I glanced down at mine. Blue jeans, a puffy white jacket, bright blue tennis shoes . . . I must have looked like a goon. Guinevere was dressed in a beautiful periwinkle-ish gown, if you could call it that. Almost like a toga, but ten times more fashionable.

There were seven horses – one for each of the men. Bors and Lancelot swung Dagonet on his horse – Bors took the reins and mounted his own horse and started to ride off. Guinevere jumped on with Arthur. Tristan was already gone, and Galahad waited for Gawain, who mounted his horse but walked it over to me. "Come," he ordered and held out his hand. I grabbed it near his elbow and used it as leverage to climb on. I've never ridden a horse before, and grabbed his waist without thinking, afraid. He stiffened but nudged his horse forward.

The line of people, horses, and carriages we were to meet weren't too far away since they were moving like at troop of snails. But to my surprise, only Arthur and Guinevere rode in, and Arthur returned to the back without her. He instructed us to swing a wide semicircle around them but keep going towards the city. I wasn't sure why, but my guess was Dagonet. Galahad and Gawain were to stay behind, but Arthur told me that I should keep going forward. I was afraid of Bors – he kept giving me evil looks – and Tristan didn't even stick around. I rode behind Arthur, my face pressed to his back, my eyes squeezed shut. I didn't like riding horses, I concluded. "Don't ride much?" he yelled over the whipping wind, turning his head.

"Never," I gasped into his ear.

He thought for a moment then laughed. He didn't slow his horse down until the road winded through an open field, smoke twisted in the air, telling me that we were close to the city. "Were you telling me the truth when you said you didn't know where you were?" he asked after a while of silence. The horse was at a slow gate, now.

"I was," I sighed. "I really do not know where I am or how I got here – I just appeared, if you can believe that."

"How did you know Dagonet?" This question was more in a whisper.

"I didn't. I just…knew that he was going to die." I didn't say anything about my suspected time-travel. _Time travel_. _Traveling in time_. That all sounded so sci-fi, it irked me. Suppose I did tell him, but then he thought I was a lunatic and sliced my throat? Or threw me on the streets – though that is probably what he was going to do, anyway.

"Are you a soothsayer, then?" Soothsayer? I seemed to remember that word from sophomore English – something to do with _Julius Caesar_.

"Do you ever get those feelings like you know what's going to happen, even when you really don't?" He thought for a moment, and then nodded. "That's just what happened for me."

-

The city was busting at the seams with people. We arrived maybe a half hour after Tristan and Bors had. Tristan was leaning against a stone wall just inside the gates and Bors was surrounded by a ginger-haired woman and a dozen or so children. Where all of them _his_? Dagonet's body still laid across his horse, a thick and muscular hand fell from under the cloak that covered him. I turned my head.

I happily got off the horse and stood against it where Arthur had leaded us – next to Tristan. He glanced my way once, then took out an apple from a side-bag from his horse and bit into it. Arthur had gone off somewhere and I could hear the people and caravans approaching. I soon became aware of the eyes staring holes in me. I blushed, touching my clothes, which would seem trite from where I came from, looked out of place and ridiculous. I noticed that I was the only woman in figure-hugging jeans.

Arthur soon returned with a balding man in fancy robes and others that seemed to be guards. The voices of the people of the caravans alerted us to their presence outside the gate. Guinevere entered with a boy clutched to her side, followed by Galahad and Gawain.

"Tristan," Arthur growled under his breath. "Dagonet." The brooding knight quickly walked over to the dead man, but it was too late. The boy took off in a sprint and ducked in front of Tristan, who backed away like he was a germ.

Guinevere hurried over and whispered what I could only think his name – Lucan. Lucan's hands grasped the big that was uncovered and held it to his face. Guinevere started to pull him away, but he slipped a thick silver ring from the man's fingers and encased it in his, bowing his head. Was this his son? Bors certainly seemed to have many. Lucan's face started to gleam with tears and he backed away, burying his head in Guinevere's skirts.

Bors' wife or girlfriend or whoever came over and started to herd the two away, but turned and beckoned me forward as well. I turned my head to Arthur – since he was the only one I've ever talked too in length – and he jutted his chin in their direction, silently telling me to follow.


	3. author's note

Thanks to those who read and reviewed!

After a hiatus from the 'net (I lost it after my desktop crashed . . . And I now have a laptop, which gives me ease to wifi XD), I have come back to ! I re-started "I Could Get Used to This" as my story "Caught In Reverse!" If you would like to read it, as I know you will!, please go to my profile and pick it out of the rest of my fanfics! Thanks!

Love,Sadie


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